The Months After
by AllThreeSherlockHolmes
Summary: Sequel to The Hours Before. Spoilers for His Last Vow. What happens in the months after Mary shoots Sherlock. Set after he is re-hospitalized. Reviews are greatly loved. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: The chapters of the following story are set around other people's thoughts on what is happening. Sherlock's thoughts will appear in later chapters.

* * *

John sat by Sherlock's bedside, watching the rise and fall of the man's chest. Ever since the events that took place at that empty house and Baker Street, two nights ago, he'd been by Sherlock's side.

Sherlock had lost consciousness before they were ever out of the flat. He had been unconscious ever since.

Throughout the day, people came by and would try to talk to John, or leave some kind of 'Get Well Soon' present for Sherlock.

At one point Sally Donovan had stopped by, but quickly left when she laid eyes on Sherlock. John figured she still hadn't processed him being back even though he had been back for several months.

Just before visiting hours ended, Mycroft stopped by to see how his brother was doing.

"You know, John, I'm not surprised, Sherlock pulled such a stunt. It wouldn't be the first time he's escaped from the hospital," Mycroft said, as he stared at his brother's almost lifeless form.

"When was the first time?" John asked.

"He was ten at the time. He had fallen out of a tree and hit his head on the way down. He was unconscious when we got to him. Late that night he had woken up in the hospital. I guess that's when he decided that he didn't want to stay. We didn't realize he had escaped until his doctor told us. Mother had sent me home, since she didn't want to worry me anymore than I already was. When I got home, I found him sleeping in my bed," Mycroft said.

John chuckled. "I can't even imagine how he pulled that off."

"He climbed out the window," Mycroft stated. "He always liked to climb."

"What are you doing here Mycroft?" John asked.

"I was hoping Sherlock would be awake. I have a very important matter I need to discuss with him," Mycroft replied.

"If it's about the person who shot him, she's at home," John pointed out.

"It's not about that. It's about a far worse matter that has arisen in the past few days," Mycroft said. "Do call me when he wakes up."

Mycroft then left the room and down the hall

* * *

Sherlock had now been out for a week, and John still hadn't left his side. He refused to go home. If he went home, he would have to face Mary, or whatever her name was.

He pulled the memory stick out of his pocket and examined it. He was ever so tempted to find out what it was, but if Mary was she said she was, than any information on the memory stick had to be false.

Why did Sherlock say that he trusted her? She had killed him. He flatlined and was declared dead for two whole minutes. The surgeon had given up one him. The dark-haired man had somehow managed to bring himself back to life.

John didn't know how he did it, but he didn't care how. He was just glad Sherlock was alive, well barely alive. He wasn't out of the woods yet.

Someone walking into the room, pulled John out of his thoughts. He looked up at the person standing in the doorway. It was The Woman

"Ms. Adler?" John asked, surprised and not quite sure he was right.

"Hello John," Irene said as she moved closer to Sherlock's bed. "How is he?"

"He's been like this for a week," John replied. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"That's what they wanted you to think," Irene stated. "I was saved at the last-minute and was moved to America."

"You faked your death," John summed up.

"With so help," Irene confirmed as she placed a hand on Sherlock's cheek.

John quickly caught on and realized that Sherlock had save her. He never would have guessed. Sherlock knew John was lying when he told him that Irene Adler was in Witness Protection.

"Did they find out who shot him?" Irene asked.

"No they didn't," John lied. "Who ever it was is probably long gone by now."

"Shame. Who would want to try and kill Sherlock Holmes?" Irene asked rhetorically

"Who wouldn't want him dead? That's any easier question to answer," John stated

"Well I would love to stay and chat, but I must be going now. I have to go see a client," Irene said as she headed for the door.

John looked at Sherlock and could have sworn that the sleeping man was blushing.


	2. Chapter 2

When Molly stopped by to see how Sherlock was doing, she saw John sleeping in a chair. She woke him up and made him go home, promising to stay with Sherlock.

Molly tended to the flowers that previous visitors had left for Sherlock. At a good lot of the flowers had come from female fans.

When she was done caring for the flowers, she sat down next to Sherlock. She had thought she was over him, but here she was sitting net to him, watching him breath and sleep. According to his doctor, he'd been out of it for over a week and he wasn't sure if Sherlock would ever wake up.

Molly had hope though. She knew Sherlock better than anyone. There was no way he going to lay in that bed forever while there was crimes to be solved. Nothing could stop the great Sherlock Holmes. The man had brought himself back from the dead, just to prove a bloody point.

Molly moved closer to Sherlock and placed his hand in her. "You listen and you listen good, because if you don't wake up, the murderers, the rapists, the kidnappers, and the sickest most twisted minds will get away. You need to wake up and stop them."

Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and leaned back in the chair, just as Anderson was coming in.

Molly always found the man as strange and a tad bit insane. Ever since Sherlock came back, he followed him from a distance. He had become obsessed with the consulting detective. At first Sherlock found it okay, but over the months he did his best to avoid the man.

As a way to get Anderson to following him, he agreed to go to Anderson's flat once a week and chat.

"What do you want Anderson?" Molly asked.

"I just came to see if Sherlock was awake. John hasn't been updating his blog, so I figured I should by and check," Anderson replied. "Where is John?"

"Probably sleeping in a bed," Molly stated. "Sherlock has not woken up, but when he does, I'll have him call you."

Anderson grinned like a lovesick puppy then left.

Molly sighed. That man gave her the creeps.

* * *

When John came back the next day, Molly stayed and chatted with him, hoping to avoid the elephant in the room.

Even when it was time for her to go downstairs and clock in, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay where she was and listen to Sherlock's breathing. If she went downstairs, she'd feel as if she wasn't helping Sherlock. But if didn't do her job, she wouldn't get paid and no work would get done.

She decided to go downstairs to do her job, but promised herself to come back up and sit next to Sherlock during her lunch break.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock knew that his friends were starting worry, since he wasn't awake. He wanted to wake up, but he was stuck between two worlds. Life and Death. They were both pulling on him. The only way to escape them was in his mind palace. He couldn't leave until Life and Death stopped arguing over him.

He had tried reasoning with them, but they didn't seem to want to listen. For the past who knows how long he sat in his mind palace with Red Beard, listening to people who came to visit. He didn't know how long he had been asleep. He only knew night from day When there were no visitors, he'd walk through the halls, trying to tune out Life and Death and go through old cases and seeing what he could have done differently.

One time, he and Red Beard wandered so far into the palace, that they got lost and had to figure out a way to get back before some unpleasant memories found them. When they got back to the main halls of the palace it was day time and John was sitting next to Sherlock's hospital bed.

Sherlock listened to John talk about the memory stick and his opinions on the information it probably held. After awhile he heard Molly come in. It must have been her lunch break.

He liked it when Molly took time out her day to come visit. Red Beard happened to agree with him, because when ever Molly came, he barked happily.

* * *

At night Sherlock often thought Mary and what she was. He didn't trust her. She did in fact kill him. He was legally dead for two minutes. He came back because he knew John was in danger.

He had told John to trust her and believe her. John probably thought he had gone mental when he said that. Truth was that when he woke up he was going to explain to John of why they had to trust her. He didn't trust that woman for a second. She was apart of something. Something much bigger then what she was claiming.

* * *

As the sun rose, Sherlock made his way back to the main halls and waited for John to come.

Today, John didn't come by and sit next to him. Instead it was Mary. Why was she visiting? She shouldn't be visiting.

Sherlock listened to her talk about John and how much she missed him. He decided to tune her out since she wasn't giving him any helpful information that he might possibly remember when he woke up.

* * *

One night after everyone had left, Sherlock walked outside his palace and tried to reason with Life and Death. Tonight they seemed to want chat more than argue.

Sherlock started to list off reason why Life should win and let him wake up. When he was done listing off his reasons, Death became hostile and started pulling him. With Life on his side, he was pulled back to the middle of them.

He quickly went back into his palace and stayed there. He wasn't going to try that again. He just had to let them work it out with him interfering even though it was him they were fighting about.

* * *

As he walked through the palace with Red Beard at his side, they came across a crime scene in progress. Sherlock walked over to the body and saw that it was Magnussen. The man had a bullet in his right between his eyes.

Sherlock looked around and saw a gun a few feet away from him. It was John's gun. What was John's gun doing at a crime scene?

He looked away from the crime scene and saw himself and John sitting the back of a police car. He wondered what had happened.

He went to look at the body again, but it had disappeared along with the rest of the crime scene. The scene was replaced with Mycroft standing in front of him, leaning on his umbrella.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I can't tell you what happened, little brother," Mycroft replied. "You just have to wait."

Mycroft then turned and walked down the hall, disappearing.

* * *

One night, Sherlock noticed that Life was winning. He knew that it was just a matter of time before he woke up. He also knew that as soon as he woke up, he would forget everyone that came to visit, how long they had stayed, the conversations. He would forget all of it. Another thing he knew was that his endless days with Red Beard were over. He would never see his loyal dog again.

Sherlock didn't want to wake up, but he knew that he had to. He decided he would wake up in the morning. That way he would have more time with his dog and a longer grasp at the memories of everyone who had visited and worried.

* * *

When the sun had fully risen, Sherlock stood at the main doors of his palace, with Red Beard at his side and waited. While he waited, he said goodbye to his dog. Oh, how he wished he could stay, but Molly was right, he was needed.

Sherlock heard John enter the room and sit down next to him. He listened for a bit. John was talking about what his doctor was saying.

After an hour, Sherlock decided that enough time had passed. He took a red rubber ball out of his coat and threw as far he could. Sure enough, Red Beard went after it.

Once the dog was out of sight, Mycroft appeared in front of Sherlock. "Time to wake up little brother."

Sherlock turned and faced the main doors just as they started to open.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: "I'm sooo changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to fair it is my only weakness." You thought I was just going to let him wake up? Well where's the fun in letting him wake up in this chapter without letting you know what other characters are thinking?

* * *

Mycroft sat in his office twirling a pen with his fingers while reading a file on one Sarah Moran. When he realised what Mary really was, he managed to get access to every single file on who she was.

In 1993 she married a man named Robert Moore, who had been working with Moriarty at the time. Two years later Moore was killed by a single shot to the back of the mad. By then Sarah's brother, Sebastian was part of Moriarty's network and became his right hand man.

Ten years later in 2003, Sebastian and Sarah fell off the grid, thanks to Moriarty. They continued their work for him in secret while they evaded Interpol, the CIA, and whole bunch of other government.

Five years ago they had been compromised by a certain DI Dimmock. Sarah had managed to not get any jail time and avoided a criminal record, since she had laid out a sob story that her brother forced her to help. Everyone believed her.

When the government released her, she went underground and came up as Mary Morstan. Know one had known.

Mycroft was going to have to discuss this with John, but he could ony do so when his brother woke up. The conversation would have to wait until after he held a private discussion with his younger brother about a certain individual who has become a problem yet again.

Unfortunately, Sherlock hasn't been awake for four weeks. His little brother's doctor wasn't sure as to when or if was going to wake up. But that doctor was idiot. what did he know? He certainly didn't who Sherlock Holmes was. He just thought of Sherlock as another patient, who thought it was okay to climb out a window.

Mycroft smirked at the mere thought of his brother climbing out the window. When they were younger Sherlock would climb trees, scale fences, and ride his bike every where he went. He was such an active child when they were growing up, but he was also strange. Sherlock would sometimes bring small injured creatures home with him, and nurse them back to health.

But when he turned sixteen, that all changed. Instead of going outside, he hardly came out of his room. He let his hair grow out, and wore dark clothing. Their parents often found him sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by books about death.

This all happened after, Red Beard had been put down. Mycroft figured out that Sherlock was making him feel guilty for lying and wanted him go forward and admit it was his fault. But he didn't see the point. It wasn't going to bring the dog back.

It was also around this time, that Sherlock made his mind palace. He just wanted to escape , but without having to hurt himself or others.

When Sherlock was eighteen, their parents took him to see a therapist, who diagnosed him a sociopath. After that things went from bad to worse. Sherlock couldn't deal with the idea of him being a sociopath, so he turned to drugs.

Whenever Sherlock didn't go home at night, their parents called Mycroft and had him go looking for him. Mycroft often found him laying in an alley or in a drug den.

After enough was enough, Mycroft found some people who could hopefully put him on the right path. He introduced Sherlock to DI Lestrade and Molly Hooper. Lestrade let him help with cases as long as he was clean.

Sherlock seemed fascinated with the idea of solving murders, but found it hard to stay clean. After long three years of trying, Molly got him into a rehab facility. Which was where he resided for two more years.

As soon as he got out, he was ready to help Scotland Yard solve murders. He also managed to start his own business as a consultant to the public. He helped people with their problems, as long he was interested. He didn't take on cases that were boring.

After so many years of Sherlock working alone, Mycroft decided it was time for him to have a friend, who was willing to help. When he learned about John Watson, he had Mike Stamford introduce the two of them.

Thankfully everything went as planned. Sherlock took a liking to John and allowed him to be his friend.

Neither one ever figured out that it was Mycroft who made them meet.


	5. Chapter 5

Sally Donovan sat on her couch nursing a cup of tea. For the past few weeks the only topic on her mind was Sherlock Holmes. She had accepted that he faked his suicide a long time ago, and fell back into her usual pattern. She continued to call him a freak and treated him no differently.

But when she heard that he had been shot and had physically died, her world stopped. Even though he came back, she couldn't help but let everything around her fall. She tried to pick up pieces by going to see him in the hospital after his great escape, but looking at him made her feel worse. He looked so helpless and lifeless.

She often wondered if this what Anderson went through after John blamed him. His world fell apart. He lost his wife and went insane coming up with theories of how Sherlock survived. The man was never the same. He started dressing like John and talking like Sherlock.

Sally took a sip of her now cold tea, but didn't seem to notice or care. Why had John never blamed her? She was verbally abusive to Sherlock as well. Even when they first met, she warned John about Sherlock, telling him to stay away. She had intentionally done so. She had always thought that Sherlock didn't deserve friends. He was sociopath. People like that didn't have friends. They had bodies piling around them.

Her first thought when she met Sherlock and discovered how much he was enjoying everything, was that he the type of person, who was going to kill anyone who didn't agree with him. But during that time, he was struggling with trying to stay clean. If she had known that, she wouldn't have been so quick to judge.

Whenever they did a case and she insulted him, he would shrug off the insult with a deduction and go about his job. His reactions to the insults made her think it was okay to insult the genius.

She swore that as soon as she felt ready, she would go see him and apologise for everything. Hopefully she could put herself back together before she lost everything.

* * *

Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. But the next one will be longer


	6. Chapter 6

Everything crashed that day, nothing and no one could help. Everyone he knew treated him differently. They gave him weird looks. People on the streets kept their distance. They blamed him for everything.

It only took a month for him to lose his job, his wife, his flat. He lost everything that mattered. He was living on the streets. No one would give him spare change.

Once a week, Lestrade would find him, usually on Baker Street, and take him to small diner. The man gave him some money. He was the only person that was nice to him.

One night while he was trying to stay warm, he saw the man's older brother, Mycroft, walking down the street. Mycroft was talking to someone on the phone. He saw that the man was headed to 221B.

Having decided to follow, he kept his distance, while trying to hear his side of the conversation. He picked up on Sherlock's name being used a number of times. When he heard the consulting detective's name he decided that he was still alive.

* * *

Anderson spent a year getting off the streets, finding a job and founding the Empty Hearse fan club.

It took awhile for people to join, but only after a lot of convincing and throwing out theories, did people join.

* * *

A short while after Sherlock came back several months ago the club disbanded. Anderson was left by himself.

He had started following Sherlock. He wanted to learn how the great detective's mind worked. After following him around for a month, Anderson started his own blog about Sherlock, but under a false name.

When Sherlock found his blog, he set out to find the 'stalker'. It hadn't taken him long to find out it was Anderson.

During one of the cases, Sherlock caught him red-handed and threatened to take him to Scotland Yard if he didn't stop following him. Anderson promised to stop.

Three months ago, Anderson couldn't take sitting at home looking at a blank computer screen any longer, and decided to follow Sherlock.

For a few hours, he managed to keep his distance, but curiosity got the better of him and he started to get closer and closer. When he got as close as he could, he watched as Sherlock walked into an empty house on Leinster Gardens.

Anderson quickly followed him inside to see what he was doing. As soon as he had stepped inside, he knew that he made a dumb move. Sherlock had known that he been following him the entire time.

Sherlock was beyond upset and angry. He looked as if he was about to kill Anderson on the spot. Anderson was by all means terrified.

After several long moments of uncomfortable silence, Sherlock offered up a deal. Instead of dragging him to Scotland Yard like he swore he would do, he made a deal that was too good to pass up. The consulting detective said that as long as Anderson stopped following him, he would stop by as his flat and discuss any topic with him one day a week.


	7. A New Threat?

Author's Note: Due to schools being shut down due to a small freeze, I had time to kill, and finished this chapter much sooner than I had hoped. I hope you all enjoy. Don't forget to review.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked around the room. He took notice of all the flowers, balloons and unopened boxes that were in the room. Pointless. His eyes quickly located John, who looked relieved.

"Oh thank God. You're finally awake," John stated.

Sherlock tried to talked, but his mouth and throat were drier than a desert.

John clearly took notice of this and picked up the pitcher of water that was one a small table next to Sherlock's bed, and poured some water into a styrofoam cup.

"Here, drink this, then talk," John said.

Sherlock took the cup and greedily drank the water.

When Sherlock was done drinking, he gave the cup back to John. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Four weeks and five days," John replied taking the cup.

Sherlock's eyes widen in disbelief. "What have I missed?"

"Not much. Mary and I still aren't on the best of terms. Magnussen has stayed quiet," John answered. "I'll go let your doctor know that you're awake."

John got up and left the room.

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to remember everything that was discussed while he was trapped in his palace, but he could remember absolutely nothing. It was all a big blank.

* * *

Word had quickly spread about Sherlock waking up. Mycroft was the first to hear about him and was the first one there.

Mycroft kicked John out of the room, telling him go visit Molly.

"You sure do know how to take your sweet time about waking up," Mycroft said as he sat down in the chair John had occupied less than a minute ago.

"Sorry, if I worried you," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Do you know how much effort it took to keep our parents away? If they came here, they would do nothing but cry," Mycroft stated. "It's them you need to apologise to."

"You must have a far more important reason to be here, other than to talk about our parents," Sherlock pointed out.

"Five weeks ago, someone popped up in Cardiff under the alias, William Scott Holmes. Now only a few of us know your full name," Mycroft explained.

"I certainly hope you didn't do what I think you did," Sherlock said. "Please tell me you didn't give him my full name."

"Well up until five weeks ago I didn't think it had mattered since he shot himself in the head right in front of you," Mycroft defended.

"I can't believe Anderson was right," Sherlock complained.

"Let me guess he told you that Moriarty was still alive?" Mycroft asked.

"He came up with a theory about it," Sherlock corrected.

"Jim Moriarty is as good as dead," Mycroft stated. "It's his twin brother, Jamenson, you need to worry. He's the one using your name as an alias."

"Where is he now?" Sherlock wondered.

"Still in Cardiff keeping a low profile, but I have some of people tracking his every move. If he does anything, we will be the first to know," Mycroft answered.

Sherlock's head fell against the pillows as he sighed in frustration. "How much longer am I going to be here?"

"At least four more months," Mycroft said in a smug tone. "Do keep in mind that your were in a comatose state for a month."

"Well I'm awake now," Sherlock pointed out, "and if I am awake I should be working."

"You will be doing no such thing for a while, little brother," Mycroft stated.

"If I can't work than what am I supposed to do?" Sherlock asked.

"Get better," Mycroft said as he stood up from his seat. "I shall return tomorrow. There is another matter that we both need to discuss with John present."

Mycroft then left the room, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts while he waited for his friend to return.

* * *

The rest of the day had been a flurry of excitement. Every thirty or so minutes, someone came to visit Sherlock. A good lot of the visitors was either the press trying to get an interview or fans that wanted to get a pictures of him to post on their blogs.

John eventually called Lestrade when a fan came in and wanted to look at Sherlock's gunshot wound, and had an officer posted outside Sherlock's room.

The day had worn Sherlock out. Shortly after eating a few bites of the takeout food Molly brought by, he was asleep for the rest of the night.


	8. Following Orders

Lestrade sat in his flat, nursing a glass of Scotch thinking about the first time he had met Sherlock. Mycroft had introduced them.

* * *

_Sherlock and Mycroft walked in St Bart's morgue where Lestrade was talking to Molly about a suicide victim._

_Lestrade looked at Mycroft. He knew who he was. Everyone in Scotland Yard knew who he was. He was the British Government. If he told you to do something, you did it. No questions asked._

_He knew that Mycroft wanted him to look after his younger brother and get him clean. The only thing he didn't know was that the meeting was to happen today. Mycroft did that a lot. Not telling you when a meeting was and show up unexpectedly when you were in the middle of something._

_Lestrade looked at the twenty-one year old Sherlock, but truth be told the kid looked much older. Sherlock's eyes were sunken in, with dark circles around them as if he hadn't slept in who knows how long. His hair was disheveled, as if he hadn't bothered to comb, brush or wash it in a few weeks. All in all, the kid was a wreck._

_"I need to have a word with you, DI Lestrade," Mycroft said, pulling the man out of his thoughts_

_"Can this wait Mr. Holmes? I'm in the middle of something," Lestrade pointed out._

_"Faked suicide. The murderer clearly wanted to cover her tracks by hanging her victim," Sherlock said._

_Lestrade stared at the kid. "How on earth do you know that?"_

_Sherlock walked past Lestrade and look at the body more closely then said, "If you had observed your victim you would see the hand print around the throat is much to small to be a man's. I clearly doubt it was kid, mostly because a kid would not have the strength to kill a grown man then hang him. But a young and physically fit woman would. The suspect you're looking for also wears waterproof chapstick and is in her mid-twenties to early thirties."_

_"Spectacular," Lestrade stated. "How did you do that?"_

_"I don't just see, I observe. From there I deduce. Now that we've settle that. I think my brother would like to talk to you about me," Sherlock replied._

* * *

_Lestrade and Mycroft stood just outside the morgue discussing Sherlock._

_"You are to allow him to help on cases. You are to keep him away from drugs. If you fail to keep him away from drugs, you will lose everything. If you fail to look after him, I will make your life hell. Do we have an understanding Detective Inspector Lestrade?" Mycroft warned._

_Lestrade nodded. "I will look after Sherlock and keep him away from drugs."_

_"I'm glad you understand. Now get back to work. You have murderer to catch," Mycroft ordered._

_Mycroft then walked right past Lestrade and made his way out of the hospital._

* * *

From that point on, Lestrade had kept a close eye on Sherlock. Every day he would go to the kid's flat to make sure he was staying clean.

The first year was the hardest. He was doing everything he could to help, but some days he found it hard to break through to the kid. No matter what he said, it passed over the kid's head.

After that first year, Mycroft assigned Molly Hooper to help.

Sherlock had taken a liking to her and listened to her. She often let him look in on autopsies or let him work in the lab.

Lestrade still had to watch the kid, even though he was with Molly.

When it became clear that Sherlock was having a hard time staying clean, Molly had arranged for him to go into rehab.

Even while he was in rehab for two years, Lestrade would bring him case files and have him help. The kid would take anywhere from a minute to a few hours to solve the cases.

After two years in rehab, the kid was sober and ready to work, but Mycroft refused to let him work on cases, and wanted him to work alongside him. Sherlock refused and did what he wanted to do.

Solving crimes is what he's always been good at. It was his purpose in life.


	9. Please Stay

Sally stepped off the lift and on to third floor of the hospital. She had decided it was time to pick up the pieces and right her wrongs.

Sherlock had been awake for a week and a half now, but according to John, Lestrade, and even Anderson, he was easily tired, and not always in the best of states.

She had gotten a text from Lestrade earlier that day, saying that he was currently in one of his better moods.

As she approached his room, she steeled her nerves. She had thought long and hard at what she was going to say. She had rehearsed her side of the conversation over and over again. Hopefully everything went the way she wanted it to. But knowing Sherlock Holmes it wasn't going to happen.

She stood in the doorway and looked at Sherlock. He was currently sitting up in the bed, shirtless, and doing something on his phone. She wondered what he was doing for a mild second, but quickly dismissed the thought. She wasn't here to talk about phones. Sally Donovan was here to apologise.

"How long are you going to stand there, staring at me, Donovan?" Sherlock asked not taking his eyes off his phone.

Sally swallowed her nervousness and stepped into the room. "Hi Sherlock."

Sherlock placed his phone in his lap and looked at her. "What ever happened to 'Freak'? More importantly why are you here?"

"I'm here to apologise," Sally said, quickly losing her nerves.

Sherlock continued to stare at her with those spectacular yet daring eyes of his. "Apologise for what?"

"Calling you a freak for all those years, not bothering to learn about you, keeping a one-tracked mind, and not accepting you for you," Sally replied.

The consulting detective's eyes soften, but his hardened expression stayed the same. "You seriously think you hurt whatever feelings I may or may not have?"

Sally bit her lip and nodded.

"Apologising for what happened in the past won't make it better. It won't delete the memories or the sting. Just because you say you're sorry, doesn't mean you fixed what was broken," Sherlock explained. "The person who shot me apologised right after, but it didn't stop me from feeling the pain of a hot bullet ripping at my body. So don't come in here and apologise for words and events that are dead and buried. Do I make myself clear?"

Sherlock's words were meant to be harsh, but as they entered her ears and sank into her heart, they became words of softness, warmth and understanding.

"I hear you loud and clear, Sherlock," Sally replied.

"Again with calling me Sherlock. Why are you so suddenly calling me by my name?" Sherlock asked.

"It's the name you were given, and I think it's time I respect that," Sally answered.

Sherlock smirked ever so slightly, as if her answered amused him.

Sally's steeled nerves left her and she decided it was time to go. "Well I've got to go. I have things to do."

"No you don't," Sherlock disagreed. "Why don't you stay and chat for a bit?"

"I really shouldn't. You need to be resting," Sally pointed out.

"Resting is boring," Sherlock stated. "Besides everyone else who usually visits is busy, and I know for a fact that you are currently off duty and have no plans for the rest of the day."

Sally hesitated for a second, but Sherlock looked so lonely. He needed someone to talk to. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like for those two years when he was on his own, traveling from country to country destroying Moriarty's network.

"I'll stay," Sally said as she sat down in the chair next to his bed.

Sherlock smiled, like he was glad to have her stay. Which he was.

* * *

The two of them talked for a few hours, jumping from topic to topic. They started talking about how he was feeling, to where he was telling her about the two years he spent on his own. That was just the first hour.

After some time he told her about how he really survived the fall. Sally wondered why he was telling her, and never told any anyone else.

"I trust you, Sally Donovan. I know you won't going telling everyone. You'll keep it a secret," he had told her.

The two of them, fell into a comfortable silence. An understanding of sorts. He had forgiven her. Though he would deny it if she asked, she knew deep down, that she was forgiven.

Sally looked at Sherlock and felt something that she had never when she saw him. She felt love. But knowing that he could never love her, she quickly dismissed the feeling.

"I shouldn't be keeping you awake. You need to rest," Sally stated standing up.

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted.

"You're eyes tell a different story. They tell me that you're tired," Sally pointed out.

"Come back tomorrow, then?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm sure everyone else will be done with whatever they needed to do by tomorrow," Sally said.

"They aren't you. They don't understand what I went through in those two years. Sure they know bits and pieces and have formed their ideas from that, but they don't know the full story," Sherlock explained. "So come back tomorrow?"

Sally smiled faintly. "Sure."

* * *

Author's Note: Yes I know I'm evil. I know I promised those of you have PM'd me, more Sherlolly. But While I was writing Sally's earlier chapter, I thought of the idea of her and Sherlock making a connection of sorts. No they will not fall in love. Their future relationship will entirely be a brother/sister kind of love. Well I'm off to work on the next chapter.


	10. Baker Street

For the past month, Sherlock slept, ate very little, and dealt with visitors. They always asked a lot of the same questions. "Are you in pain?" "Do you need anything?" "What kind of mood are in?"

Ever since he had woken up from his comatose state, he'd been suffering from erratic mood swings. One minute he could be fine, the next he was either on edge, or mad at whoever was in the room at the time for no apparent reason.

The only time he ever felt control, was when Sally came by. He could tell her anything. He could trust her not to tell anyone else.

One day he told her about what happened in Serbia. He was able to recall every cold night chained up, every beating, every insult, every word. He remember single second of torture. He had tried his best to delete the memory from his mind palace, but he couldn't. The memory was to big.

He told her of the nightmares he continued to have. He mentioned the scars on his back and how they were the constant reminder of the torture he went through.

Sherlock was to full of himself to admit that he had PTSD, so Sally did it for him. She also said that she would help him with it.

Sally even figured that it might be the root cause for his mood swings. When she told him this, he believed her, because it made sense.

* * *

After another boring week of the same routine, Sherlock had John talk his doctor into letting him go back to Baker Street.

After much discussion, the doctor finally agreed under the condition that John was there at all times, keeping an eye on him.

* * *

As soon as Sherlock was back in his own bed, he was fast asleep. The short car ride and walk up the steps had worn him out.

He slept for the rest of the day, while John stayed in the sitting room, occasionally checking on him.


	11. Awoken

When word got out that Sherlock was back at Baker Street, people with problems thought he was better and able to help them. Much to their disappointment when they showed up, they learned that he was still recovering.

One evening, Magnussen came. He and his goons walked right past John, who had told them that Sherlock was sleeping and wasn't to be bothered. Magnussen didn't seem to care. He had to discuss things with Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock who had been sleeping semi-peacefully was awoken by his door hitting the wall. He sat up straight, temporarily forgetting his gunshot wound, frightened and not knowing what was going on.

In a matter of seconds the pain was coursing through his body. He wrapped his arms over his chest and gasped in pain. Between the gasps, he noticed Magnussen and his two goons, as John liked to call them.

Mentioning John, he pushed pass the three men and was at Sherlock's side.

"Sherlock, I need you took look at me," John calmly ordered as he kneeled down. "Can you look at me?"

Sherlock raised his bent head and looked at John. Pain was covering his face.

John looked over at Magnussen and his guards. "Out! Now!"

Surprisingly, the men listened and exited the room.

John went back to giving Sherlock his full attention. "I need you to lay flat on your back, so I can make sure your stitches didn't rip."

Sherlock did as he was told and laid back down. To keep his mind off the increasing pain, he talked.

"What is he doing there?" Sherlock wondered.

"I don't know. They barged in and didn't bother listening to me," John replied as he check his pulse and removed the bandaging. "I tried to stop them. I really did."

"It's not your fault, John," Sherlock stated. "I think we picked a very bad night to stop the morphine."

"Three of your stitches ripped," John said as he stood up. "I'll go get the first aid kid and some painkillers. Until then, steady your breathing. Your pulse is going at a rapid pace."

Sherlock watched as John left the room, and began taking deep breaths. He knew that he had to get his pulse under control very quickly. If he didn't, something much worse than a few popped stitches was going to happen.

When John came back, he took Sherlock's pulse again. "It's going back to normal, but it's not quite there yet. Just continue to take deep breaths, but take these first."

John handed Sherlock two painkillers and a glass of water. Sherlock quickly swallowed the two painkillers and washed them down with the water.

"They won't take effect for another ten minutes, so in the mean time I'm just going to put on a fresh a bandage, and figure out what Magnussen wants. By the time I'm done with him, the pills should be working. Also your pulse should be back to normal by then," John explained.

Sherlock simply nodded, as he watched John leave the room again.

* * *

John walked into the sitting room and saw, that Magnussen was sitting in his chair and the two goons were guarding the door.

"Is he alright, Dr. Watson?" Magnussen asked.

"What are you doing here?" John asked in return.

"I came to see how Sherlock was," Magnussen replied. "I never meant to scare him. Will he be alright?"

"He will be. I have to wait for his pulse to go back to normal, before I can do anything," John answered. "If you had bothered to listened to me, none of this would have happened."

"I didn't think coming by for a visit would hurt him," Magnussen defended.

"You didn't just come by. You barged in here, not listening to what I was saying," John stated. "His body can't handle that kind of excitement."

"He looked as if he was in a different place. Almost as if he was being held somewhere. He looked liked a little kid who was cowering in fear of the neighbourhood bully," Magnussen said. "My guards must have triggered a terrible memory or something."

"Both Sherlock and I would kindly appreciate if you and your goons left and didn't come back. If you want to have a meeting with Sherlock, you will have to wait. If you ever barge in here the way you did again, you will not live long enough to have that meeting. Do I make myself clear?" Watson threatened.

Magnussen stood up and straightened his suit. "I hear you Dr. Watson, but I'm more interested to about hear about Harry."

"Leave. Now." John said, clearly not affected by the mention of his sister.

Magnussen looked around the sitting room for a brief second. "I'll be back in two days. Make sure he is awake when I get here."

With that said, Magnussen turned to his goons and left.

John walked over to the window and watch the slime ball exit the building and get into his car. He watched as the vehicle went to the of the road and turned.

Once the car was out of sight, John walked back into Sherlock's room.

* * *

When John walked into his best friend's room, the man had fallen asleep in the matter of ten minutes. Having Sherlock sleeping was going to make his job much easier.

John knelt down next to Sherlock and opened the first aid kit and took out the supplies he needed. He then proceeded to check the sleeping man's pulse again. It had returned to normal.

The former army doctor set to work restitching the consulting detective's gunshot wound, hoping the man would stay asleep. If Sherlock were to wake up, he might freak out again, and make the injury even worse.

Thankfully, he slept all the way through. When John had finished his job, there was a knock on the door.


	12. The Visitor

Sherlock didn't wake up again until sometime in the afternoon. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around his room. Something was off. Someone moved something. It couldn't have been John. He knew better than touch Sherlock's stuff without his say so.

There were only a couple of people who would mess with his stuff. One of them was currently trying to get past the road blocks Mycroft put up. The other was currently somewhere in the flat, not playing dead.

Sherlock was tempted to call out the woman's name to see if he was correct, but didn't want to risk it.

Just then John entered his bed room. "Good you're awake. You feel up to having a visitor?"

"Irene Adler?" Sherlock guessed.

"I don't want to know how you figured that out," John stated. "Send her in?"

Sherlock looked down at his bare chest. He seriously wished John would let him start wearing a shirt. But the fabric would probably irritate his wound. Plus since it had to be re-stitched, he'd have to be shirtless even longer.

As if the former solider had been reading his thoughts he tossed him a shirt. "I agree. It's not a good idea to let that woman see you shirtless for a second time. It's loose enough not to irritate the wound, but once she's gone, it comes off."

Sherlock put the shirt on. "Second time?"

"She saw you a week after you re-hospitalized," John replied. "I'll let her in."

A minute later Irene was sitting on the edge of the detective's bed, staring at him.

Sherlock stared back and analyzed her. She wasn't dressed in her usual outgoing clothes. She was wearing a faded Beatles t-shirt and blue jeans. She wasn't wearing any make up or jewelry.

"I didn't think you knew how to dress like a regular person," Sherlock stated. "There has to be a reason why."

"I'm in a tight spot right now, but won't be for much longer," Irene replied.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"You have something that I need back," Irene answered.

"I can't right now. I still need to look through it. I had only just scratched the surface when I got shot," Sherlock explained. "And John will not allow me my laptop. He doesn't want me working."

"Where is it?" Irene asked.

"Somewhere safe," Sherlock promised.

"Does Magnussen know you have it?" Irene questioned.

Sherlock let the back of his head hit the headboard. "Probably. He paid a little visit last night. I'm not entirely sure if he searched the flat or not."

"I heard. John filled me in," Irene stated. "How are you?"

"The painkillers have long since worn off, and John won't let me use morphine anymore, but sleeping helps," Sherlock answered.

"I don't mean physically. He said you got quite the scare last night," Irene clarified.

"It was a normal reaction to have when someone barges into your room while your sleeping," Sherlock dismissed.

Irene stared at Sherlock to see if he was lying, but she would never know. Even at a young age Sherlock had been able to get out of situations by making people believe his lies, by giving as little information as possible and by believing his own lies. He wasn't worried about Irene, she would only end up believing him.

"You finish looking at the information, then give it back to me," Irene stated as she stood up.

Sherlock said and did nothing, as he watched Irene head for the door and leave.

* * *

As July ended and August began, Sherlock was allowed to leave the confines of his room and move around the flat some, but only on the conditions that he didn't take on any cases, do any experiments and if he started eating again.

In the past month and a half after waking up from his month-long coma, Sherlock had eaten very little. It was hard to keep food down. Whenever he tried eating, he threw up. So after trying to keep his food down on five different occasions, he gave up eating all together. He stuck to drinking tea, water and some coffee. John had tried to get him to eat, but he always refused.

Now that Sherlock was able to move around his flat some, he regained some his appetite and began to eat small amounts of food. He mainly munched on the fruits Mrs. Hudson brought him or a bag of crisps.

Whenever he was in the sitting room and John wasn't around, He would take his laptop out its hiding place and look at what was on the memory stick. He read as much as he could and as fast as his mind could process and sort through it, before John showed up.

One day, Sherlock was so immersed in what he was reading that he didn't hear John walk in. He hadn't even noted the his best friend's presence until he spoke up.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he walked over to the detective.

Sherlock quickly pulled up his website 'The Science of Deduction'. "Updating my website. I haven't updated since that night at the pool. I figured since anyone who has ever wasted their time to read your blog, they've wasted time on my website as well."

John looked at Sherlock's laptop screen and looked at his friend's website. "You haven't updated anything."

"I'm thinking about what to put," Sherlock replied defensively.

"Why don't you tell everyone about your recovery. I'm sure they're interested," John suggested.

"If they wish to know about my recovery, they can go to your blog, or read the newspapers," Sherlock stated.

"I haven't written about it on my blog. I haven't looked at it since the honeymoon," John admitted.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Why not?"

"How do I explain that it was my pregnant wife that shot you?" John asked in return. "The folks at Scotland Yard would read it and find out."

"Don't mention Mary. Just say that an unknown assailant shot me in the chest and got away," Sherlock answered.

"How do I tell them that you actually died, because the papers never released that information. Mycroft made sure of it," John stated.

"You don't tell them," Sherlock said. "Come on, John, do I need to write it for? You're a good writer. People like reading your blogs, because when they read them, you let them know that I can be human sometimes, and can feel things. If I write about, I'm going to come off as a machine who had some work done and felt nothing. Plus knowing that I find it hard to contain certain government secrets, I might let something slip."

John just stared at his best friend. Sherlock had a way with words when he wanted to. Whenever he did, he meant what he said.

"You think I'm a good writer?" John asked.

"Well I say good, but even after having that blog for four years, your wording of things are still rubbish. You need to expand your vocabulary. Make the reader feel like he was really there," Sherlock explained dismissively.

John let out a breathy chuckle as he left the sitting room and walked into the kitchen. Even after giving a compliment, Sherlock still would manage to knock it down.

Sherlock looked at his website. Now he had to put something and he had no idea what to put without sounding like a robot. Hopefully, John would forget the conversation.


	13. Re-entry

After leaving Sherlock on his own for longer than usual, John had a gut feeling that something might happen. Instead of finishing the grocery shopping he went to the do-it-yourself check-out and purchased the items of food he already had.

While doing this task, he took out his mobile and called Sherlock.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Automated voicemail. Beep.

"Sherlock. I'm just calling to make sure everything is fine. I know I should have been back by now, but I ran into a couple of friends and time got away from me. I'll be back at the flat soon. Call or text me when you get this message," John said it the phone before hanging up.

Before he even had a chance to put his phone back in his pocket, it beeped twice, indicating that there was a text message.

John looked at the text message and stopped what he was doing and rushed out of the market.

The message had read: _Tsk tsk Dr. Watson. You shouldn't leave Sherlock Holmes by himself for such a long time. Who knows what might happen between now and the time you get back._

* * *

After hailing a taxi, John took out his phone and tried calling Sherlock back. Hoping that the man would answer.

The call went to voicemail five times. Giving up on calling. He sent a text, knowing that Sherlock would reply very quickly. He always answered to text messages.

By the time the taxi got to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock had not replied to the text messages. John quickly paid the driver, got out, entered through the front door and pounded up the stairs.

Upon entering the flat he saw Sherlock lying on the couch, eyes shut, with one arm hung over the side, mobile on the floor and very pale. John rushed to his best friend's side and looked him over. Sherlock's breathing was labored and shallow.

The former army doctor lifted the detective's shirt to look at the wound. The bandage was soaked in blood. He removed the bandage and saw that all the stitching had been removed and the wound forcefully reopened with something being stabbed into it. By the looks of it, with a very thin, fine tipped blade.

John took out his phone and dialed 999, as he place his left hand over the wound.

When the operator picked up, John told the person to the situation and to send for an ambulance, then hung up.

Sherlock's eyes opened a sliver as he groaned in pain.

John looked at the man's partially opened eyes. "Who did this?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock groaned as he shut his eyes again.

John continued to look at Sherlock, thinking the man probably wasn't thinking straight, due to the fact that Moriarty was as good as dead. There's no way to fake a bullet to the brain.

John lightly tapped Sherlock's face, hoping to wake the man up again and get more information. No such hope happened, Sherlock remained unconscious.

John counted each of the minutes that passed. Five more minutes until help arrived. He hoped to whatever god was out there that they were faster.

The doctor checked Sherlock's pulse. It was getting weaker with each passing second. As he pulled his hand away, he could hear the sirens as the blared down the road.

* * *

John sat in the waiting room with Lestrade, Molly, even Mary.

He even sat next to his now-visibly pregnant wife, holding her hand.

It felt like forever had passed and started over again, as they wait for news on Sherlock. He had been rushed into surgery four hours ago, and still no word.

Every hour, Mycroft would call John, to see what was happening, but always got the same result.

* * *

The sun had just started setting when, the surgeon walked into the room and looked at the four of them.

John was the first to stand and first to ask. "How is he?"

"It was touch and go for a while, but we were able to stabilize him and repair the internal damaging. He's in ICU right now, but he won't be awake for a while," the surgeon explained.

"How long is awhile," Lestrade asked.

"Anywhere from a day to a couple of weeks. The damage that had been done was very serious. Who ever did this, knew what they were doing," the surgeon answered.

"Can I go see him?" John asked.

"Of course. I'll have a nurse come and escort you," the surgeon replied.

"Just tell me his room number. I can get there myself," John stated.

"332," the surgeon said, before walking away.

John quickly removed himself from the group and headed for Sherlock's room.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock found himself wondering in his mind palace with Redbeard once again. Life and Death were fighting over him again. He hoped that the fight wouldn't drag out as long as it did last time. He had a blackmailer and attempted murderer to catch.

He recalled everything he went through to survive again.

* * *

_He found what he needed to stay calm and he stayed with his clever dog for as long as he could, but Death pulled him further down._

_Instead of ending up in a padded room with Moriarty, he found himself in the torture chamber in Serbia. He watched from the doorway as the former naval officer punched, kicked, cut, whipped the other him over and over again. He looked around the room hoping to see his older brother, but no such luck. His brother had been replaced by Magnussen._

_Magnussen looked pleased with the beatings and told the man to continue. Sherlock watched as the man picked up the pipe and landed several blows on the other him's back and legs._

_Feeling every blow the pipe brought, Sherlock ran from the room and pushed past the Serbian guards. He ran until he was back upstairs in his palace. _

* * *

Now that he knew he was safe, he called for Redbeard and began walking again. While they walked side by side, Sherlock listened as John walked in his hospital room and sat down in a chair.

He listened as John rambled on about how worried he was and what he had been told by the surgeon.

* * *

As the night wore on, he listened as John stopped talking and fell asleep in the chair.

Shortly after the talking ceased, Sherlock heard as someone walked into the room. It didn't take long his massive intellect to figure out that it was his brother. The click from the tip of an umbrella tapping the floor every couple of steps gave him away.

He was planning on tuning out his brother, but instinct told him to listen. Remembering didn't matter, he had to hear this.

Mycroft spoke of Jamenson Moriarty coming to London.

Nevermind, Sherlock decided on tuning him out since he already knew this. He was the one in the flat. He was the one that took out the stitches and put a blade in his gunshot wound. The man had also sent John that text.

* * *

As the days and nights passed, Sherlock found himself exploring old memories that he managed to delete. Memories such as the solar system and unfond school times.

Often he and Redbeard would stumble upon memories from when he was a child. He watched as his younger self got picked on for being right all the time. He would look at the younger Mycroft, who wasn't far away, as well, and wonder why he just stood there, not helping.

As the years passed, Sherlock watched as he grew up and fell down. He found his teenage self sitting in the back of the class in silence, hair covering his face as he carved words into the desk with his pocket knife.

The bullying had stopped at this point, because he had managed to scare every single bully off with vivid descriptions of how he would kill them and get away with it. The bullied had become the bully, and he didn't care. He just stopped caring at that point.

Sherlock walked away from the scene, with his head hung. Why had he deleted why he became so uncaring? Because it hurt to much to remember.

He only cared about a few people, everyone else to him was a bully who wanted to hurt him. Even though he cared about a few people, he never put his heart on his sleeve. If he cared to much, he'd feel the pain he felt while growing up.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the floor of the main room in his palace with Redbeard's head in his lap. They listened to the visitors come, talk then go. John stayed the whole time. The only time he would leave, was to go back to the flat to shower or go to hospital cafeteria and get some tasteless food.

Whenever Sherlock was alone, he would listen to Life and Death argue. Most days, Life had a stronger pull. Other days Death was more tempting. Death warned him of the pain he would suffer after waking up. Sherlock refused to listen. He dealt with being shot then suffered from internal bleeding. If he could get through that, he could get through this.

* * *

Late one afternoon, Sherlock found out that Life had won and he could wake up. This time there was no waiting until morning. It had to be now or most likely never.

Sherlock headed for the main doors of the palace, said goodbye to Redbeard, threw the red rubber ball and watched as the doors opened.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock became aware of his surroundings before opening his eyes. He heard the steady beeping of the heart monitor he was attached to. He felt the air dance across his bare chest. He smelled disinfectant along with several other smells he knew but didn't care to name.

Suddenly the pain in his chest hit him like a train slamming into his body at full speed, He didn't want to open his eyes anymore. He want so desperately wanted to go back to his mind palace and be with Redbeard and listen to everyone who came to visit.

Wait a minute? How could he remember the visitors? How could he remember days and nights spent with Redbeard? What else did he remember that was supposed to be forgotten?

Sherlock finally opened his eyes and looked around the room. Just like last time, the room had flowers, and unopened boxes. Not as many as last time though. That must have meant that they're keeping a tight lid on the situation this time.

Only difference was that he was alone this time. John wasn't in the room, which probably meant he was downstairs in the cafeteria or at the flat.

Just as he was trying to decide where John was, the man himself walked into the room. Upon instinct Sherlock looked over at his best friend and observed him.

John had dark circles around his eyes, which meant he hadn't slept much in the past days. His clothes were wrinkled as if he had spent the past couple of days in them, The man was also in need of a shave.

When John took notice of Sherlock's open eyes, he was next to the man's bed in a matter of two steps.

"Thank God you're awake," John stated.

Sherlock went to talk, but it felt like his mouth was full of cotton.

John quickly poured up a glass of water and gave it to Sherlock, who quickly drank the water.

"I distinctly remember you saying something similar last time around," Sherlock pointed out when he was done drinking. "How long was I asleep this time?"

"Week and a half," John replied. "What happened in the flat?"

"Well I'm fairly sure that Mycroft has now properly informed you about the other Moriarty," Sherlock guessed.

"No he hasn't," John said. "Who's the other Moriarty?"

"Jamenson Moriarty," Sherlock said. "He's more hands on. Whereas his brother had sent goons to do the dirty work. Jameson was the one who put the blade in the wound."

"Any ideas what Mycroft will do once he knows?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "He might just let it slide, since we don't have enough on him. Moriarty doesn't have any blood on his hands. At least not enough."

"So this man is going to get away with trying to killing you?" John asked.

"Oh please he was wasn't trying to kill me. He was playing his game," Sherlock stated.

"He took out your stitches and shoved a blade of sorts into your still healing wound," John exclaimed.

"He sent you that text before he did all that, knowing full well you would get back to the flat and save me," Sherlock explained.

"Why didn't you try to fight back?" John asked.

"I was on the couch resting and he caught me by surprise," Sherlock admitted. "I had tried to fight back, but he quickly restrained me."

John sighed. "I'll go tell your doctor that you're awake."

* * *

Two hours after waking up, Sherlock started to receive visitors. Mycroft being the first.

Just like last time, Mycroft kicked John out and told him to go to something, so that he and Sherlock could have a private conversation.

"We're going to keep a tight lid on the situation this time," Mycroft said as he sat down.

"I already figured that out," Sherlock stated. "When word got out that I had been shot, there was press and 'fans' coming into the room every few minutes. We don't need that happening again. Plus if the press found out about this, they'll create a story about the shooter finishing the job."

"Speaking of Mrs. Watson. I had a conversation with her shortly after you got out of surgery last week," Mycroft pointed out. "Was she involved?"

"No," Sherlock replied as he rested his head into the pillows. "Jamenson Moriarty."

"Is it possible she could have known though?" the elder Holmes asked.

"Doubt it. If she had known, you would have known. You've been monitoring everything she does," Sherlock stated. "Besides she has something much bigger planned and putting me back in the hospital is not part of that plan."

"Any closer to figuring it out yet?" Mycroft questioned.

"John had just given me the memory stick Mary gave him. I was looking at it when everything happened," Sherlock explained. "From what I read, I think she plans to blow up Appledore."

"We have to get to Magnussen before she does then," Mycroft said.

"Got a plan?" Sherlock asked.

"Christmas dinner. You'll be out by then, hopefully," Mycroft replied.

"Hopefully?" Sherlock asked.

"You've had two attempts on your life in the span of three months. To avoid another one, you will not be leaving here until your doctor declares you healthy enough to go back to your flat without needing John's help 24/7," Mycroft explained.

Sherlock groaned in annoyance. "This is worse than Serbia."

Mycroft said nothing, he just stared at his younger brother. Not once in the months since he came back from the dead, did he mention Serbia to him. He had known why, but never really pushed, knowing that Sherlock would push it to the side to deal with it at a later date, apparently the date never came.

"Want to talk about it?" Mycroft asked.

"Talk about what?" Sherlock asked in return.

"Serbia?" Mycroft clarified.

"No," Sherlock said with gritted teeth.

"William, I think it's time you talked to someone. You need to clear the air before we go after John's wife," Mycoft insisted.

Mycoft knew better than to use Sherlock's first name, but when it came down the serious matter of his brother's mental stability, he'd use it.

"I've been talking to someone and you are not to push them for details on what we have discussed," Sherlock said threateningly. "And stop worrying."

Mycroft decided to ease off. If his brother said he was talking, then he was most likely talking. Even though Sherlock was warning him to stay away, he was going to find out who knew.

"You need to rest," Mycroft stated standing up. "I'm going have Lestrade assign an officer to stand outside your door in case you think about escaping. I'll be back into two days."

Mycroft then promptly left the room, leaving Sherlock with his thoughts.


	16. Mrs Waston

Author's Note: Time for Mary/Sarah's point of view. In this chapter, I'm going to jump around in time a little bit, so try your best to keep up. Sorry for taking so long to post this, but my internet got cut off and it took forever to get it back

* * *

Mrs. Watson sat on her couch, sipping a cup of tea as she watched John carry boxes of his belongings out to the car. He was moving back to Baker Street.

He said it was because that Sherlock was going to need his help when he was released from the hospital. But she knew the real reason why. He was upset and pissed at her for lying about her past and shooting his best friend.

While she watched him move the boxes, she took note that he never even glanced at her, or made the slightest attempt to do so. She pretended not to care, but it was hard to mask due to hormones.

If she had a chance to go back and change this, she wouldn't change a damn thing. She would still shoot Sherlock and not call for an ambulance.

Despite Sherlock saying she did. What had happened was that she saw Magnussen dialing 999 and took the phone after pistol-whipping him in the head.

Apparently the operator figured something was wrong when she hung up on them, and sent an ambulance and police.

"Well that's all the car can hold," John said interrupting her thought process.

Mary looked up at him hoping he was looking at her, but he wasn't. He heading for the door.

"How long?" Mary asked.

"I don't know," John said still not facing her.

"Please face me?" Mary asked.

John hesitated for a moment for turning around to look her. She looked into his eyes and saw that the love had been drained out of them. She saw what she saw when she first met him, a broken man who needed help. Only she couldn't help him this time. It was Sherlock's job now. Sherlock had to help him move forward.

"Tell Sherlock I said hi," Mary said.

"Don't count on it," John replied as he turned and left.

* * *

Mary walked into, Mycroft's office, visibly terrified. She knew that there would come a time when she had to face the older Holmes, but she didn't want it to be under these circumstances. That wish died when she shot Sherlock.

The second she had pulled that trigger, she knew that there would be a meeting with Mycroft Holmes. She just didn't know when. She never prepared.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Watson," Mycroft said as he sat up straighter than a pen.

Mary remained standing. "I was in the middle a bank deposit."

"Have a seat, Mrs. Watson," Mycroft repeated.

Mary obliged and sat down.

Mycroft stood up from his chair, straightened his suit and stepped to the front of his desk, looking down at her.

"Don't play a façade in here. I will now and that will make things even worse," Mycroft warned.

"Why am I here?" Mary asked.

"You know why," Mycroft replied. "You shot Sherlock Holmes. You should consider yourself lucky. If he had died, you'd be somewhere, not so pleasant."

"I would be dead in a ditch somewhere," Mary guessed.

"Oh no. Despite what people might think, I'm not heartless enough to put an unborn child's life in danger. You would have died after giving birth though," Mycroft reassured.

"That's nice to know," Mary stated.

"On to business," Mycroft said as he clasped his hands together in front of him. "You should know something that no one has told you yet. You did in fact kill my brother."

"No I didn't," Mary denied.

"He was legally dead for two minutes. The only reason he's alive now, is because of his refusal to die. I don't know how he managed it, but he brought himself back from the dead, not the surgeons," Mycroft explained. "But because of his little escape a week and a half ago, two hours ago he was declared comatose."

Mary swallowed. "He's in a coma?"

"Yes, and I place the blame on you," Mycroft answered. "You see this is what they call a domino effect. If you hadn't shot him, he wouldn't have had to fight for his life. If he hadn't had to fight for his life, he wouldn't have had to escape and risk further injury to himself. If he hadn't had to escape, he wouldn't have suffered from internal bleeding..."

Mary cut him off. "And if he hadn't suffered from internal bleeding he wouldn't be in a coma."

"Exactly," Mycroft said with a sly smirk. "So you see, this is all your own fault. You caused each of those domino's to fall. There are still more domino's to come and I can place every single one of them on you."

"How so?" Mary asked.

"Knowing my brother, he will figure out a way to wake up, sooner or later," Mycroft stated. "That being said, if anything happens to him in the future and he's able to connect it to you any way shape or form, you will not have a future. Keep in mind that you won't be pregnant forever."

Mycroft stood firmly on his feet and walked back to his chair and sat down. "I am going to tell you this now. I have people keeping an eye on everything you do. If you do the slightest thing wrong, I will know. I will know if you miss a day of work, visit my brother. I'll even know if you sneeze."

Mary sighed. "Can I go now?"

"You'll be dropped off where you were picked up," Mycroft replied. "Good bye Mrs. Watson."

Mary stood up and left the room.

* * *

After making sure John wasn't at the hospital, Mary left the safety of her home and decided to see if what the elder Holmes had said was true. She wanted to see Sherlock for herself.

When she walked into Sherlock's room she regretted her decision to come. Looking at him made her regret what she did. Mycroft was right it was her fault, and she couldn't deny it.

After standing in the doorway for a few minutes, she decided to sit down in the chair that so many other visitors had occupied in the past two and half weeks. Those visitors being people, Sherlock cared about and trusted.

She knew that he didn't trust her, he only said that for John's sake. Everything he ever did was for John. He faked his own death just to keep that man safe, while she just lied about her past. He had done more for John than anyone else had ever done.

She looked at Sherlock's sleeping face. It wasn't peaceful. It was painful. He was in pain and no one had realized it because they saw what they wanted to see.

She couldn't do anything, because everyone thought she was just the wife of the injured man's best friend. John had painted them the facade of who she was pretending to be.

She just sat there for a while, not speaking. She just stared at Sherlock. She knew it was useless to talk to a comatose patient. They couldn't hear or reply, so there was no point. But she also knew that people found it comforting talking to someone who couldn't judge them.

So she started talking. She talked about John, and how she missed him. She talked about her meeting with Mycroft. She just sat there and talked.

The talking eventually stopped, when someone who worked for Mycroft showed up and escorted her out.

* * *

Mary wasn't regularly informed about Sherlock's recovery like everyone else. Mycroft made sure of that. With him knowing everything, she had to stick to a routine she did not like. If the routine was messed up in the slightest way, someone from his staff would be by her side the rest of the day.

When she finally received an update on Sherlock, he was back at Baker Street, recovering there. She was tempted to go see the man, but John would be there at all times, monitoring everything, even visitors.

One night she sat at home sipping some tea while Jeff, someone from Mycroft's staff, sat and watched her. She had tried to make conversation, but it didn't work. He would just sit in John's recliner, reading a book while watching her.

She hated every second of this. She felt like a five-year old getting a time-out. Out of everything, she the silence the most. It was painful not being able talk. Every day was passed in silence. The only times she talked was when Janine called her or when it was official business of sorts.

* * *

One afternoon while she was having lunch with Janine, she received a text from John, telling her to him that something happened to Sherlock and to be at St. Bart's.

When she got there, John was pacing while Molly and Lestrade just sat not saying anything.

"Any word?" Mary asked making her presence known to John.

John looked at her, somewhat relieved to see her. It was almost as if he had forgotten everything she did.

He walked over to her and hugged her.

When they pulled apart she looked him in the eyes for signs of love but found none.

"What happened?" Mary asked.

"Some sadistic bastard, stabbed a knife into Sherlock's gunshot wound, while I was out," John said.

Mary took hold of John's hand and anchored him as she stared into his eyes as if having a silent conversation.

An understanding passed between the two of them as they both sat down and waited.

* * *

A few hours after being informed about Sherlock's condition, Mary continued to sit in the waiting room. Shortly someone would come a get her and lead her away from the hospital.

She was surprised that Mycroft had come with that person.

Mary stood up and looked at Mycroft. "John texted me."

"I know, and until I find out whether or not you were involved, you can stay. John needs someone to keep him grounded until Sherlock wakes up and that person is you," Mycroft explained. "If you are cleared, then you can visit as much as you like, but will continued to be monitored. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear," Mary replied as she sat back down.

Mycroft then walked away and headed in the direction of Sherlock's room.


End file.
